


In my fort I feel okay.

by Mysenia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Depression, Full wolf Peter, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 17:06:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3944776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysenia/pseuds/Mysenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles was the strongest person Peter had ever met because he struggled with his inner demons every day and won.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In my fort I feel okay.

**Author's Note:**

> I am having a really rough day, this is the byproduct of that.

When Peter walked into the house everything was silent. He could hear the steady thump-thump that indicated Stiles was in the house somewhere but it sounded more muffled than usual. Peter strained his ears, trying to gage whether or not Stiles was sleeping, but he could not decide. Peter hung up his coat and locked the door. Walking further into the house yielded no sign of Stiles though Peter did spot a note on the counter. The house was immaculate, a fresh scent layered on top of everything as if the windows had been open most of the day. The sun was still up and daylight filtered through the windows, the only light on being the one over the counter containing the note.

Peter walked over to the note, glancing around one more time before reading it.

Gone to ground. Fend for yourself for dinner.

Peter frowned, turning his head to look at where their bedroom was, at once wishing he had the ability to see through walls. The cleanliness and the fresh smell lingering on now made sense. Peter took a moment to breath. Leaving the note on the counter Peter took soft steps down the hall until he was standing in front of the bedroom door. He slipped off his shoes, flexing his toes in his socks and pressed his head against the door. Slipping his hand around the knob Peter turned it slowly, taking extra precaution against making any noise. 

The interior was pitch black, as Peter had expected, and he slipped inside quickly but silently closing the door behind him. Peter let his eyes adjust, his werewolf eyes making it possible for him to see everything. The bed was moved, pushed underneath the window, completely bare. In the center of the room, where their bed normally stood proud, was a massive clustered lump of blankets. Peter knew that underneath those blankets he would also find every single pillow they owned. There was no visible gap left open so Peter knew he was not wanted, at least not his human side.

Peter took the time to slowly strip down, folding his clothes and placing them on the loveseat. He walked over to his bedside table and grabbed up an energy bar that he left there for these occasions. He allowed himself the time to slowly eat it, ears ever alert for any noises coming from his mate. 

Stiles was an effervescent, bright, and cheerful young man. Stiles was a loud, disrespectful little shit. Stiles carried his friends through tough times. Stiles celebrated every milestone. Stiles was the strongest and best person Peter knew. Stiles also wore a mask. Peter saw the struggle when Stiles wanted to be happy for his friends but could not. Peter saw the struggle when Stiles wanted to get out of bed but could not. Peter saw the struggle when Stiles’ world was a deep dark hole and his limbs could hold him up no longer.

Days like this, Peter knew, were some of the hardest days his mate faced. Forget fighting kanima’s and witches, assholes who cut you off and the person who ate the last piece of cheesecake; they were a landmine while these were a chasm. One had the possibility of setting off while the other was a vast depth of unknown magnitude and depth with no end in sight. Peter ached for Stiles every day. He wanted to cocoon his mate with hope and love and safety. In essence where Stiles was now, his fort, was Stiles’ very own version of a cocoon. A safety measure against all outside forms of harm, his inner demons - the worst and most harmful - the only thing left able to hurt him. 

Peter wished he could take Stiles into his very essence, consuming him to protect him from himself. It rankled his wolf that there was nothing they could do to make their mate feel better. Peter took comfort in knowing that at least Stiles found some measure of protection in his fort. A physical symbol of his inner struggle.

Finished his food Peter rolled his shoulders and allowed the transformation to take over. It was mere moments before Peter found himself clothed in his wolfs body. Stretching out, fitting himself into his form, Peter walked towards the fort. He circled it, trying to see if he could spot anything resembling his mate. Finding no clue as to where his mate was underneath everything Peter nosed his way under the blankets, inching his way in on his belly. 

Inside the fort was hot and the cacophony of emotions Stiles was feeling assaulted Peter’s nose. Stiles was curled up in a tight ball on his side, head hidden by his arms. Peter still could not tell if Stiles was asleep or if he’d been laying prone like that long enough to have evened out his breathing and slowed his heart right down. Pillows were placed strategically over Stiles’ front, his back open and Peter knows that he is wanted. Had Stiles not wanted any touch he would have covered his back as well and Peter would have contented himself to just laying inches away from his mate, being a silent but steady presence.

Peter moved slowly up behind Stiles, careful not to jostle or spook him. Peter curled himself around his mates back, his big body almost fully covering Stiles. The first sign that Stiles was alert came in with his heartbeat increasing. Soft hiccuping sounds escape his mouth and Peter smelled salt in the air. Peter curled up tighter, drawing Stiles even closer to his body. Stiles did not reach out for him, did not let out any noise beyond the gasps that he couldn’t quite contain. 

Stiles’ pain was Peter’s pain. Peter itched to scream and shout at the unfairness of his mate suffering this way. He knew it would do no good. 

The gasping slowly tapered off but the tears never stopped. A constant steady drip, tracking down Stiles’ face leaving a tacky wetness behind them. Peter yearned to clean them up. 

In this space the only thing that mattered was Stiles. Peter could feel all he wanted but he knew that entering this space meant he said nothing, did nothing, unless Stiles asked him too. Right now Stiles needed a silent sentinel at his back and Peter was always willing to provide that.

Hours passed and the tears came and went, sometimes accompanied by great gasping sobs, other times completely silent. Stiles inched away from Peter, creating a gap that still allowed him to feel Peter’s body heat but kept the constricting feeling away. Stiles shoved back, burrowing himself underneath Peter, needing that extra layer to protect him. Stiles slept in fits and starts, Peter ever watchful at his back. 

In the wee hours of the morning, the birds chirping the greeting of the day, Peter finally felt Stiles relax. Peter let himself breathe deeply, thanking the deities that Stiles was able to fight through another day. Peter knew that the day would be long, that Stiles would move slowly and that maybe they would end up back here, but for now they had made it through. Peter was so proud of his mate.

Stiles was the strongest person Peter had ever met because he struggled with his inner demons every day and won.


End file.
